


Glimpses

by risotto



Category: Free!
Genre: First Kiss, First Meeting, First Time, Firsts, Flowers, Fluff, Gift Fic, High Speed references, Kisumi POV, Kisumi has the best hair, M/M, Makoto Birthday Fanworks Exchange, Middle School, Reverse Chronology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8493994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risotto/pseuds/risotto
Summary: A series of firsts for Kisumi and Makoto, in reverse.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doublelead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublelead/gifts).



> For **teletou** who, on the Makoto Birthday Exchange, requested—
> 
> \- Kisumi weaving flowers in Makoto's hair  
> \- Kisumi kissing a flower petal and putting it to Makoto's lips  
> \- Middle school crushes, hit me with all the school love story cliches -- walking home together, waiting by the shoe cubbie, alone together in the classroom at sunset, shoe cubbie love letters, longing looks through the hallway window from being in different classes, shouting at each other from different classes through the outside window.  
> \- Playing with fluffy hair in general  
> \- SWEETS AND DESSERTS
> 
> I tried to include a little bit of everything. I hope this is right by you. Please enjoy!
> 
> Also, keep in mind the fic's chronology: it's told in reverse, starting from the present to the past. Hope it's not confusing!

He’s laying on his stomach, face turned on his pillow to take in Makoto’s disheveled appearance and flushed cheeks as he tries to catch his breath. Though they’ve done this more times than he can count, Kisumi’s always loved this part. The afterglow, the moment where everything starts to dissipate and come together more clearly. Kisumi can’t help the tiny spark of pride at being the cause of it.

In the distance, he can hear the rhythm of a Tokyo train rolling along the tracks, crystal clear and loud, which means they didn’t close the windows; they probably kept the whole street awake again. And for some reason, perhaps smugness, Kisumi’s prideful grin widens.

“Mm? What’s so funny?” Makoto asks. There’s a slight hoarseness in his voice and knowing what made it that way brings a certain heat to the surface of Kisumi’s skin he’s thankful he can blame on something else.

“Nothing,” Kisumi lies, his smile still wide and bright.

“I think I believe you,” Makoto says, turning onto his back.

“You should always believe me. I mean, it’s been…what? Ten years? Have a little faith, Makoto. My thoughts and intentions are _always_ pure.”

Shamelessly, Kisumi throws his arm over Makoto’s chest and cuddles up closer to him, as if to prove his point somehow. Makoto shifts to accomodate him without complaint, even if Kisumi’s now appropriating his shoulder for a pillow. He never complains, now that Kisumi thinks about it, and he’s pretty sure it’s not only because Makoto is a saint, but this position also gives him easier access to—

And, just as Kisumi expects, Makoto’s fingers get lost in his hair, touching and combing through the strands, making them frizzier and even more haywire in appearance. Kisumi lets out a small whine of protest, to which Makoto laughs, and he lifts his head off Makoto’s bicep. Not that it matters, because Makoto’s still teasing and fluffing his hair.

“You always do that,” Kisumi huffs. “How come?”

“I’m not sure,” Makoto admits with a small laugh. His eyes turn to him and they’re soft and suddenly, Kisumi remembers why he’s always been forgiving of Makoto’s incessant hair-fluffing. “I think it’s...when I first saw you, it was what I wanted to do.”

“What, fluff my hair?”

Makoto blushes. “Yes. Is that weird?”

“Ten years after we’ve first met? Yes.”

Kisumi's aware of the hypocrisy. It’s not as if there wasn’t a mile-long list of things Kisumi wanted to do when he first met Makoto.

 

-

 

“Do you have your passport?”

“Of course I do.” Kisumi holds up the crimson booklet. Stuffed in between its stamped pages are plane tickets, some travel vouchers, hotel maps and guides, and other official travel documents.

“Okay, what about your immunizations? Are they up to date?”

“Sure they are,” Kisumi says, even if he’s not entirely sure if they are. They probably are, yeah.

Makoto looks only halfway satisfied with that answer as he paces back and forth in the tiny space of their genkan, mentally counting off items from a checklist mothers everywhere have stored away, or something. “Emergency contact phone numbers?”

“My parents, you, and Satsuki-chan.”

“I think you should add Hayato, just in case,” Makoto murmurs.

Kisumi nods, and rolls his suitcase toward the front door. “I’ll let my manager and the agency know, soon as we land, I promise. Help me with my bags, will you?”

Helping with his bags turns into Makoto insisting on carrying everything down to the ground level of their apartment building himself. When they’re waiting outside of the lobby and several policemen walk by toward the nearby box, he turns to Kisumi and asks, “That reminds me—do you think maybe you should hire some bodyguards?”

“Makoto,” Kisumi sighs. “ _Relax_. We’re going to Bali for a photoshoot, not a warzone to cover a coup. And it’s only for a couple of days, not even a week. We’re going to be perfectly safe.”

Makoto nods and gnaws at his lower lip with worry, and something drops in Kisumi’s gut. Not lust, no, because even though watching Makoto’s mouth has been such a longtime hobby of his, he’s long since figured out ways to hide it. It’s something else.

It’s guilt. He hates this. He hates worrying him, even if it’s for work. How Haru was able to put up with these kicked puppy dog faces, Kisumi will never know. But he’s got to learn fast because they’re going to be the death of him if he wants this roommate arrangement to last.

His mouth opens, prepared to tell Makoto: _you know, I don’t really want to go either—in fact, I don’t even like this stupid idol thing, but it pays really well and it helps me get ready for what I really want to do, and if you wanted, I’d drop it all just to stay here with you, just say the word…_

“Your ride’s here,” Makoto says.

Kisumi blinks. “Huh?”

“Kisumicchi!”

Sure enough, the agency van is pulling up in front of the apartment building with a familiar blonde head poking out the passenger side window. There’s no backing out of this now.

As the other idol happily blabs out details about their itinerary and plans and everything in between, Makoto lugs the bags into the van without being asked.

That quiet acceptance just makes everything that much more painful.

“Makoto—”

Kisumi’s the one to go in for the hug this time, but it’s Makoto who initiates the kiss. A soft, brief contact that takes Kisumi’s breath away. Kise and the driver probably didn’t see it but the warmth of Makoto’s touch is there to stay on Kisumi’s lips, perhaps forever.

Makoto pulls away, his cheeks flushed as he flicks and fluffs several strands of Kisumi’s hair off his forehead. “Have a good trip.”

Kisumi’s not sure if anything after _that_ can even measure up to _good_ if Makoto isn’t there but he nods and goes on his way.

When he returns from Bali less than a week later, he almost bulldozes an unsuspecting Makoto over in their living room and happily tells him, in between peppering him with kisses and squeezing hugs, that he’s turned in his official resignation, _so you’ll have to take responsibility._

 

 -

 

Sniffling believably is easy to do when you’re drenched in cold water in early autumn.

It’s also much easier when an old friend from middle school is consoling you with pats to your shoulder and offering you a towel and another crepe to go with the one Rin gave you.

Sousuke and Haru have given up on trying to find any sympathy for him, even if they’re the ones to blame for all of this, and have wandered off into the festival. Rin was a bit kinder, if amused by it all, and went to fetch him something warm to drink, leaving Kisumi alone with Makoto.

“It was terrible,” Kisumi whines, making a half-hearted attempt at chewing through strawberries and cream. “And cold, and wet, and did I mention cold? Because I think I’m going to get pneumonia now.”

“I’m really sorry, Kisumi,” Makoto says, for what feels like the millionth time that day. “I didn’t know you were there, otherwise I wouldn’t have fired off that shot!” His arm comes around him and with it, a surge of warmth so strong that Kisumi’s not sure if he can continue playing the cold and wet act anymore.

But if it means Makoto will stay like this with him, then he’ll try.

“‘Caught in the crossfire, an innocent victim of a senseless war.’ Engrave that on my tombstone. Please, I beg of you.”

“You’re not going to die, Kisumi,” Makoto says, resolutely, and unfurls the towel so that it’s completely over Kisumi’s head. Without skipping a beat, he rubs and scrubs at his hair, until even Kisumi—imagining how they must look like in front of all of these Samezuka students and faculty meandering about—feels he’s had enough for now.

The mothering does trigger a train of thought—something Kisumi had entertained earlier and considering bringing up before he started noticing how wet and see-through Makoto’s shirt was in this light.

“So.”

Makoto looks up from folding the towel into a neat square. It’s adorable, how he’s always so focused when doing little things like that. “Mm?”

“So you’re really going to Tokyo,” Kisumi observes.

“Oh, y-yes,” Makoto says with a smile, eyes focused on the towel on his lap. “I am. Haru is too, but he’s going to a different university.”

“Are you going to live with him?”

Makoto shakes his head, making tiny droplets of remaining water fall off the edges of his hair, the tip of his nose, and it’s all Kisumi can do to tear his eyes away. “No,” he murmurs.

To his credit, Makoto doesn’t sound very disappointed. Kisumi wants to believe it’s because he’s wanting to be more independent and focused on his studies, even if part of him is practically jumping with joy and coming up with dozens of excuses and narratives for popping up unexpectedly at his apartment. From _I’m here to fix you your favorite dinner_ to _oh, would you look at that, it’s late and the trains have stopped running, guess I’m stuck here for the night, whatever will I do…_

“Why do you ask?”

Kisumi’s mouth feels like it’s going to twist into a stupid and giddy smile so he plays it off by chomping down onto his crepe, suddenly glad he didn't put the deposit down on that apartment in Tokyo. “No reason.”

 

 -

 

Though the races are all finished and the award ceremonies are over, it’s still crowded and buzzing with all sorts of activity in the National Aquatics Center. So many schools and families showed up to support the swimmers that finding just one person in the crowd proves impossible, and after about an hour of keeping Hayato within his arms reach as he looks and wades through the sea of people, Kisumi’s given up on finding Makoto.

“Kisumi! Hayato!”

In an ironic twist, Makoto finds them instead of the other way around.

Makoto runs up to them and it’s like seeing him in the ITSC lobby for the first time again. He’s in his team’s tracksuit, a bold white and blue; his hair’s still damp and he’s smiling all the way up to his eyes, brighter than the sun itself.

No _wonder_ Hayato doodled little hearts with MT in his notebooks lately.

“I’m so glad you guys made it,” Makoto gushes, immediately dropping down to a knee in front of Hayato so he can look at him at eye level. Hayato squeaks and hides behind Kisumi’s legs from his crush.

“Hayato didn’t want to miss it for the world,” Kisumi muses, nudging his little brother out from his hiding spot. “Isn’t that right, Hayato?”

Hayato’s too overwhelmed and too red to even speak, so he only nods and hides some more.

“He’s shy,” Kisumi supplies with a small chuckle. “But, seriously, congratulations. You all swam great! Almost made me wish _I’d_ taken up swimming.”

“It’s never too late, you know.” Makoto stands proud and tall before him again, and Kisumi’s reminded of a moment years prior, when they were so close and he’d made the conscious decision to not do anything about it. But now, god, he wants nothing more than to kiss him and—

And then Makoto’s strong arms are reaching around and pulling him in for a tight hug. Their bodies are flush together and Kisumi can smell the chlorine lingering on Makoto’s skin. His body isn’t prepared for it and it goes stiff and awkward against the slightly bigger one against it. It’s also not helping that he’s pretty sure people around them are staring. Behind him, Hayato’s letting out a tiny gasp and it’s all Kisumi can do to not faint.

“Thank you, Kisumi, for everything,” Makoto murmurs close to his ear before ruffling his hair once then letting him go.

The hug only lasted a few short seconds but the thundering in Kisumi’s chest and the weird, confused look that’s undoubtedly plastered on his face suggests an eternity. “Ah? Yeah, sure. No problem.”

Makoto doesn’t answer him. Just levels a knowing look on him before he says his good-byes and promises to see him again when they make it to Iwatobi.

Why doesn’t anything ever go according to plan?

 

-

 

For a brief moment, it seems like everyone around Kisumi is depressed.

Sousuke’s depressed, because that’s just how he always is these days thanks to Rin; Rin’s recent letter from Australia sounded depressed, if not a bit curt; Asahi’s depressed because bad grades have him on thin ice with the swim club…

It’s all, well, _depressing_.

Not near as much as it is when Kisumi finds Makoto finishing up a sweeping job in the hallway after school one day. Odd because Kisumi could swear that Makoto should be down by the pool practicing.

“I’m, ah, not...in the swimming club anymore,” Makoto explains, though it sounds like he’d much rather talk about something—or anything—else.

And Kisumi might indulge him, if he wasn’t so stupidly curious and maybe even, admittedly, a little happy to know that he might finally get his chance to pin Makoto into submission on joining the basketball team. “Oh, that’s too bad,” he says, because it is. “Did you want to talk about it?”

Makoto shakes his head and turns to leave. “I, um, have to go turn some papers into the faculty office. And Haru’s probably waiting for me.”

“Wait, Haru’s not in the club anymore, either?”

But by then, Makoto’s halfway down the hall and he can't hear Kisumi.

Kisumi blows a thick strand of his hair out of his eyes and huffs. How depressing.

 

 -

 

Somehow, the ikebana club managed to rope several members of other clubs into helping them set up their booth and displays for the school festival. Including Kisumi and Makoto.

Why they asked Makoto, poor Makoto with next to no artistic sense, who’s so big and not accustomed to doing things that require precision and smaller hands, Kisumi will never know. He’ll wager a guess it has something to do with how tall and fuller he’s gotten over the short summer break, or how the dying afternoon sun cutting in through the classroom windows shines on his profile.

Makoto’s brow is furrowed as he tries to tie a sprig of cherry blossom onto some wire. He sticks his tongue out and, _oh,_ if it isn’t the cutest thing…

Kisumi needs a distraction so he looks at the other boy’s handiwork. Crooked and shoddy, it looks more like a decrepit bird’s nest than an actual flower crown. He can’t help but laugh. “What in the world is _that_?”

“I’m not good at this sort of thing,” Makoto admits, like it’s not obvious already.

Kisumi takes pity on him and reaches for the crown and, after a few adjustments and snips here and there, he makes it look somewhat presentable. “Here,” he says, accomplished, and places the crown down with the others.

“You’re so good at this stuff,” Makoto remarks with awe.

“It’s easy.” Kisumi shrugs. “You just have to be delicate.”

Makoto fidgets a little. “That’s easy for you to say. I’m just...so big and bulky.”

Puberty’s something one either grows into or gets defeated by. Kisumi’s not an expert on the subject by any means; he’s still growing, his voice hasn’t changed as much yet, and his skin is still clear. He just knows that Makoto’s obviously not seeing what he’s seeing.

“You just need Kisumi’s Magic Touch.”

Makoto tilts his head. “Magic Touch?”

Without another word, Kisumi scoots closer to Makoto until their kneecaps are touching and reaches up to braid a white camelia into Makoto’s hair by his temple. Only, his hair is too straight and thick and it doesn’t hold anything well. The flower falls into a sad heap on Makoto’s lap. “Oh. So much for that.”

Makoto laughs and picks the camellia up. “It’ll look better on you,” he insists, and tucks the flower behind Kisumi’s ear.

They laugh together and as it bubbles out of them and subsides into soft breaths and rosy-cheeked smiles, Kisumi realizes just how close they are. They’re so close that he can feel Makoto’s breath, warm and a little damp against his skin, and he can see the way the corners of Makoto’s eyes crease when he smiles. He can see the little off-color flecks in Makoto’s green eyes, now almost golden in the sunlight. If Kisumi wants, he can easily tilt his head and lean forward and kiss him.

No, that’s not entirely accurate: he _does_ want to. But even he can recognize maybe they’re not yet ready to head into that territory. They’re still young and there will be plenty of chances in the future to experiment. Besides, Kisumi has plans, and they don’t involve having his first kiss in an empty classroom surrounded by flowers and crafts.

So he improvises. Picks up a stray petal from the batch on the floor—a piece from a yellow tulip, now that he notices—and presses it to Makoto’s lips.

Something that looks like confusion and, Kisumi dares to hope, unfulfillment swirls in the green and gold of Makoto’s eyes when Kisumi pulls back and offers up his own innocent smile. “Kisumi?”

Kisumi’s chest expands and he winks. “Magic Touch.”

 

 -

  

Just his luck, Makoto’s shoe cubbie is in the same row as Kisumi’s own.

It gives him a wonderful excuse to approach him for a chat or two, so Kisumi’s been coming by everyday after school to sneak in some time before Haru shows up and puts an end to all of that.

At first, it’s part of his ploy to convince Makoto to change clubs; but after a couple of months of enduring glares from Ikuya and Asahi and that one time he showed up to watch a practice relay and _saw_ him in action, he’d given up on that endeavor and switched to just enjoying the few moments of company to actually get to know Makoto.

He knows Makoto really likes that sentai show with the Super Fusion Doppleganger; that he’s got two younger siblings, twins actually; and that despite how humble and unassuming he tries to be, he’s popular.

Very popular.

It’s on Valentine’s Day that Kisumi learns just how.

Makoto’s at his shoe cubbie, struggling with what appears to be a mountain of cards and bags and boxes that have been stuffed into it.

Kisumi’s not unfamiliar with the struggle himself and helps him gather the gifts into a bag. “ _Wow_. You have a lot, Makoto.”

Makoto blushes. “I guess so. Not anywhere near as much as you do.”

Kisumi shrugs a little. It’s not that he doesn’t care about the attention he’s getting from other students, he just tries not to think about it too much, lest it’ll get to his head. He doesn’t even consider how Makoto even knows that bit about him since Kisumi made sure to store his cards and candy from plain view.

“Oh, before I forget!” Makoto pauses, then holds out a small box for him to take. It’s a rosy pink, in the shape of a heart, and embarrassingly cute; he won’t open it right then and there, but Kisumi can easily tell by the small rattle that there are chocolates within. This is all like something straight out of a teen drama.

Kisumi can’t even thank him properly. He’s too stunned.

“I know it’s weird coming from a guy, but my mother made a lot of chocolates this year and I wanted to give some to—and oh, please don’t look at me like that.”

Kisumi blinks, wonders if his face looks as hot as it currently feels. “Like what?”

Meanwhile, Makoto’s scratching at his cheek—something Kisumi notices he tends to do every now and again, usually when he’s nervous or shy. “Ah, n-nevermind. I have to go now, thanks for your help. Have a good rest of the day, Kisumi. Happy Valentine’s Day!”

And just as easily as he’s slipped into the forefront of Kisumi’s mind, Makoto’s gone.

That night, after dinner and playing with Hayato, Kisumi lays in his bed and looks over the box. It’s empty now, not a single shaving of chocolate left.

He makes a mental note to get him something for White Day.

 

-

  

Makoto is tall.

Kisumi doesn’t realize just how tall he is until the day he walks by Class-2 early one morning and spots him in the back of the classroom, going over some homework with that Mochizuki kid that’s always leaning on him.

He easily towers over everyone in the class and with the broadness in his shoulders and knack for physicality, he’d be perfect for the basketball team. It’s unfair how a guy who’s taller than even Sousuke is stuck in a sport that doesn’t take advantage of all that. Or maybe swimming does and it’s just Kisumi’s ignorance of it and his own greediness preventing him from acknowledging that.

In any case, he’s convinced he needs Makoto on the team. He’ll just have to work that Shigino charm, wear him down bit by bit with charm and attention and before he knows it, _bam_. He'll be shooting three-pointers for Iwatobi Middle School.

Smirking to himself, Kisumi starts waving frantically. “Makoto! Hey, Makoto! Yoo hoo, over here!”

When Makoto looks over, he’s embarrassed and maybe a little frazzled at all of the sudden attention he’s getting from Kisumi and the other students staring and giggling at him in the class, but he nevertheless tilts his head and smiles and waves back.

Kisumi doesn’t want this plan of his to ever backfire.

 

-

  

The big guy in Class-2 that blocked every single one of Kisumi’s hook-shots during P.E. is, apparently, good friends with Nanase-kun, the guy in Kisumi’s class with the constant sullen expression that hasn’t decided on a club yet.

Asahi runs up to them in the hallway, intent on reeling them into the swimming club with Kisumi following suit. “Ah, you’re that class two guy who stood out!”

Standing out is putting it lightly, Kisumi thinks.

“Umm,” Asahi squints and leans in closer to read the kanji on the big guy’s name tag, “Tachibana?”

The big guy tilts his head and smiles, and for the first time in a long time, Kisumi thinks about his own future and this guy's place in it.

“Mm. My name is Tachibana Makoto. It’s nice to meet you.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're curious, the "firsts" in this are as follows: first time, first kiss, first second chance, first hug, first heartbreak, first "kiss", first realization, first spark of curiosity, first meeting.


End file.
